Solitude
by Shadow Chaser
Summary: Reaction piece to Season 4, Episode 1 "The Six Thatchers" of Sherlock and a certain character's death in said episode.


Solitude

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Author's Notes:**

Reaction piece to Season 4, Episode 1 of Sherlock and a certain character's death in said episode.

* * *

 **Story:**

The solitude and quiet of the rebuilt quartermaster's department was only broken by the clacking of a lone keyboard at one of the work stations scattered throughout the room. It was a rare evening off for a majority of the staff, enforced by Q himself since Sherlock had all but accosted him that afternoon. Q had barely taken him to a more secluded room before Sherlock babbled about his latest case, assassination plots, and someone who had betrayed Mary Watson and her AGRA team.

Ever since the debacle with Denbigh, Q had kept Sherlock at an arm's distance. How his brother managed to bully his way back into the Quartermaster department was another story, but Q had his suspicions; chief being the head of MI6 himself, M. With Bond supposedly in retirement after picking up his beloved Aston Martin from the shop – Q did not believe one minute that Bond was truly retired though he was willing to let the agent have his space after all that had happened – it seemed M was more determined to make sure that those he had somewhat of a camaraderie and concern for were cared and well treated. It was nothing overt or with an air of matron or patron-like flair as M's predecessor was occasionally known to do, but having Sherlock barge in after all of Q's safeguards had been set up to his specifications told Q that M had a hand in it. After all, there was only one other person that knew how to get past those safeguards he had put into place and it was the man who understood the tenuous position and power Q was in and protected him chiefly from Mycroft's meddling.

After Sherlock had left with the information regarding a certain person of interest, Q had ordered the rest of the department to head home or go elsewhere for the remainder of the day. He needed to rewrite the safeguards once more and to scrub any and all traces of Sherlock from the video files without suspicion. That part was easy to do, especially after Mycroft had asked him to personally edit the video of Sherlock blowing Magnussen's brains out. He also wanted some time to come to terms with seeing Sherlock after all this time. The last time he had seen his older brother was at the end of the whole debacle with Denbigh. It had revealed a closely guarded secret that he had never wanted his favorite brother to find out and he had left for the safe haven of his temporary Quartermaster department before anything could come of it.

Mycroft, when he had visited a few days after, had made no mention of what had happened, but Q could tell that there were signs of a shouting match that had happened between his older brothers. For one thing, Mycroft's expression was far more pinched than usual, and his diet was going terribly judging by the tightness of his clothing. He knew that when the eldest of the Holmes brothers was stressed, he ate. By contrast, Sherlock worked on cases and thus did not eat. Q knew his own stress level was relieved in a very unusual manner – he built things or hacked them and then used them as weaponry.

After Mycroft's visit, it had been understood that the eldest Holmes brother would not call upon the youngest one unless it was absolutely necessary. Fixing MI5's servers so that one Mary Watson could not hack into them had been one of the absolute necessary calls as was Sherlock's shooting of Magnussen soon after. Now, Sherlock had bullied his way in and Q was wondering if M was getting soft by allowing his brothers to run roughshod over him. If so, he would have to _gently_ remind M of their mutual agreement.

Q stopped typing for a minute as he breathed deeply and slowly let the breath out. He rotated his neck, feeling the cartilage crackle from the stiffness. Repairing his safeguards would take a while yet, but he knew he was almost there. He closed his eyes and rotated his neck again, but paused as he felt a change in the air, the smallest whiff of salt and sea.

"Hello Sherlock," he greeted his brother as he straightened and opened his eyes to look towards the door to the general area of the Quartermaster's department.

"...Q..." Sherlock nodded a little bit and Q was instantly struck by how melancholic and lost his older brother looked.

"You can come in," he invited, pressing his lips together. This was not the energetic, manic protective streak his brother had displayed earlier in the afternoon. "I'd take it our dear Ammo is in custody after her trip to the aquarium?" he asked, staring at Sherlock as he wandered towards him. A frown appeared on his lips as he saw Sherlock seemingly stumble a little, bumping into another's desk before all but sagging into an nearby chair. Q was concerned and he immediately found himself giving his brother a razor assessment, his eyes flitting across every part of him for any sign of injury, but there was none. "Sherlock?"

"Vivian Norbury..." Sherlock murmured, in a tone that would have been too quiet to hear over the clacking of keyboards and noises that usually populated the Quartermaster's department. But in the loud empty silence, Q heard it well enough.

"...Yes..." he stated, wondering what had come over his brother. Vivian Norbury was not MI6 per se, but instead, was an undercover operative, much like Anthea in her capacity towards Mycroft as 002. Norbury had none of the training and instead, operated like Mycroft did, as a handler of sorts, but instead knew about freelancing agents and operatives that would be able to take on missions that the Double-O program did not have the resources to spare. Her file had come clean when Q had been asked to search for it, but since it had been Sherlock who asked and succinctly explained the situation, Q realized that they had a problem much like the Prague station chief Dryden who had been eliminated by Bond in one of his first missions prior to earning his Double-O status.

Sherlock was silent for a long moment and while an ordinary person would have returned to doing what they were doing and thus ignore a person that seemed reluctant to speak, Q did no such thing. He instead, stared at his brother, content to wait out Sherlock's silence. He knew his brother well enough that he loved to speak when there was an audience or even if there was not an audience.

"Do you remember the story about the merchant in Baghdad that went to Samara?" Sherlock suddenly asked, but instead of leaning forward in sheer interest, he instead, still had a melancholic expression about him.

"You hated that story," Q raised an eyebrow, wondering why Sherlock would even consider bringing up something that he hated. It was more like Mycroft to remind Sherlock of things he hated, not the other way around.

His brother fell silent again. Q studied Sherlock, scanning him carefully now that he was sure that he was not injured. He could see the minute tremble in Sherlock's lips, occasionally pressing together before relaxing and seemingly tremble a little. His brother's eyes were clear, but there was something akin to shock in his eyes, as if he was still trying to process what had happened. It was not Q's nature to pry as he knew Sherlock would have hated it, and so he waited with patience for his brother to speak his mind on whatever plagued him. Something had happened with Vivian Norbury, he was certain of that, but _what_ was another story.

Just as suddenly, Sherlock's gaze sharpened and Q found himself the recipient of the same intense and unwavering look he had given to his brother twice. The traces of whatever had been plaguing Sherlock seemingly disappeared, but Q could tell that it was just buried under several layers the cold emotion Sherlock used to armor himself with. Sentiment was something neither of them could afford with each other and while Q was glad that Sherlock remembered where he was and whom he was dealing with, he still did not like to be on the receiving end of one of Sherlock's calculating looks. Especially after the Denbigh debacle.

It used to be easy to fool Sherlock each time he had been subjected to the analytical look he occasionally received, but this time – after all that had happened – this time was different and the two of them knew it. There was no fooling Sherlock now, his secret known to his brother and Q wondered what Sherlock saw and thought of it. He made no attempt to hide it and instead, waited for Sherlock to finish as his older brother lowered his gaze and leaned forward.

Sherlock tented his hands together and rested his chin on the web of his thumbs. But instead of meeting his gaze, his brother stared at nothing in particular. "...Q...would you have done it? Like your...compatriots?"

"Compatriots is hardly the word I'd use," Q corrected him gently, "and do what in particular, Sherlock?"

"Build a life for yourself, allow yourself the chance to live what society deems a normal life. Do all of that and then have the courage to...to let it all go for one moment, to...s-save..." Sherlock swallowed hard and the frown appeared back on Q's face as he saw his brother's lip tremble once more. However, his eyes were still clear, but the shock had seemingly returned.

Q realized that someone had died. Someone had _died_ for Sherlock. And maybe not even Sherlock, but also for John Watson, even Mary Watson and their baby. His confrontation with Ammo – Vivian Norbury – had gone terribly wrong, Q surmised. Sherlock was in shock and was trying to process what had happened. But what was odd was that Sherlock had come to _him_ to try to process what had happened instead of going his dear friend John or even Mary.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Q put all of the pieces together. Sherlock was trying to process what had happened, but had specifically come to him because he had hoped for some kind of answer, something to help him cope, to explain, to make his world make sense once more. Because for one thing, Sherlock did not have the knowledge in his mind palace, did not have the context and it was not the knowledge of hacking or of anything to do with the Quartermaster department, it was Q himself.

And judging by what had happened the last time they had met, the only thing that had changed between them was that Sherlock now knew Q's secret – that he was a Double-O; or rather, an unusual Double-O in that he was not a field agent. But a Double-O with a license to kill. And with that bit of knowledge, Q realized who had died.

Mary Watson.

Because why would Sherlock come see him for answers, to try to get a sense of what and why Mary had died when there was no one else, except for himself, who might have understood Mary's mentality – that of an assassin. Q knew from Mycroft's occasional reports that Sherlock, while intrigued by Mary's secrets and past, loved her like family because she accepted him like Dr. Watson had, without reservations. And so Sherlock was grasping onto the most familiar, grasping onto anything that could help him cope with the shock of Mary's death and what was more than likely Dr. Watson's anger. Q was somewhat sure that Dr. Watson would be angry with Sherlock, because he knew his older brother's habit of doing anything and everything to protect those he loved and cherished. It was the same habit that got Q in trouble with Mycroft or M from time to time – especially if it involved Moriarty or Magnussen.

He pressed his lips together. He knew that Sherlock wanted to hear an answer – but also knew that a negative would throw his brother into an angry despair while a positive would have the same effect. There was no easy answer and Q could only stare back at his brother's intense gaze. "You already know my answer," he answered quietly as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "You know what I did, what I will always do," he continued before he gestured with a flick of his wrist around the Quartermaster department, "this is the result. This is what I built for myself, what my actions built, and of what I did since that day and even before that, Sherlock."

"Solitude, isolation," Sherlock whispered.

"Sentiment," Q blinked once.

"Sentiment," Sherlock's lips trembled a little, "Mycroft warned me."

"You already know the answer yourself, Sherlock," Q continued, "you did it yourself three years ago when you confronted James Moriarty. Or did you forget?"

"You and Mycroft helped fake my death-"

"To Dr. Watson, to John, it was real," he pointed out, cutting through Sherlock's mutter.

Sherlock nodded mutely and while a part of Q knew he could press and be factious and say that now he knew how it felt; he did not as it was only something Mycroft would say just to meddle with their lives. "Sherlock, if the answer you're looking for is, yes, then yes, I would. Without hesitation."

"The answer I'm looking for?" Sherlock flicked his gaze back up at him.

"Don't build a wall of solitude around you, Sherlock," he shook his head, "don't be me. You've lived your life without a care for Mycroft's meddling. You know as well what needs to happen now, what you can do and what you cannot."

"Q..." Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "why?"

"I liked that story, Sherlock," Q's gaze softened a little, "and the reason why I liked it was because it meant that everything was tangible. Everything had a purpose and a reason. For me, mores o than ever, because it means that each life I might take, each life that I save, means that our paths are set."

"Is it childish of me to hate that story then?" Sherlock asked, his tone a little plaintive.

"No," Q shook his head, "it's something I wish I could hate, but I can't. Because you're not bound by any of the restrictions that Mycroft or myself placed on our own selves."

"But...I restrict myself with John...Mary...Rosie...and-"

"Sherlock, if there is only one restriction on you, its sentiment and it is something that is not restrictive. Dr. Watson, or rather, John will need you now," Q said and saw something in his brother's eyes break as he finally lowered his gaze and looked down towards his feet.

"...I broke my promise..." he barely heard the whisper, even in the silence of the room.

Q was silent. It would have been easy to say 'well, fix it' to Sherlock, but he knew those were not the words his brother wanted or needed to hear. Contrary to what Mycroft might have thought, it was not a struggle to see his brother in such a state. Sherlock wore his heart on his sleeve even though he boasted otherwise. But when it came to the two of them, Q knew what his brother needed to hear versus what he wanted to hear. And in this case, silence was the only option he was willing to put forth. It was up to Sherlock to figure out what he needed to do to fix the broken promise. He could either retreat back into his shell and remove himself from John Watson's life, or he could figure out some way of fixing that promise.

He watched Sherlock for a few more minutes before sighing quietly and pulled out a small SIM card and slid it over to Sherlock. "Encrypted line," he said as he saw Sherlock reach out and take the card and pocketed it. There was a muted nod before Sherlock sat back in his chair and Q turned back to his computer to resume his work. It was an unspoken invitation to Sherlock that he could stay as long as he liked to gather his thoughts and come to his own conclusion.

And in such a case, Q thought that the self imposed isolation and solitude was perhaps, once again, a poor attempt at ridding himself of the defect that plagued all three Holmes brothers – sentiment.

~END~


End file.
